


the long road travelled

by mollivanders



Category: Lizzie Bennet Diaries
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 22:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollivanders/pseuds/mollivanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Too much for you?” she asks, finding him just outside the living room, staring at the family portrait hanging there. She remembers taking this photo – she was eight, had frizzy hair, and Lydia wouldn’t stop crying. The woman at JC Penny had an exasperated look on her face the whole time and Lizzie went home and scrawled <i>I hate Lydia</i> a dozen times in her journal.</p><p>She doesn’t like to look at it now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the long road travelled

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: the long road travelled**  
>  Fandom: Lizzie Bennet Diaries  
> Rating: G  
> Characters: Lizzie/Darcy  
> Author's Note: Word Count - 822. This was supposed to be for someone in my Winter Wonderland fic giving but it got way too sad, so I cut it off and will start again! But I still think this is worth posting. Set approximately one year in the future.  
> Disclaimer: Jane Austen owns these kids.

He catches her eye across the living room, her mother’s house filled to the brim with holiday guests and cheerful Christmas music from the 1950s.

Under her gaze, he steps out of the room and down the hallway. Guessing he is headed towards the back yard, she follows after passing her drink to Jane and slipping away from the din and the conversation.

“Too much for you?” she asks, finding him just outside the living room, staring at the family portrait hanging there. She remembers taking this photo – she was eight, had frizzy hair, and Lydia wouldn’t stop crying. The woman at JC Penny had an exasperated look on her face the whole time and Lizzie went home and scrawled _I hate Lydia_ a dozen times in her journal.

She doesn’t like to look at it now.

“Your mother’s events are an acquired taste, I believe,” he says, his gaze flicking down to hers and as always, she feels burned by it. The noise of the party picks up again behind them and she steps closer to him, taking his hand. “I should have set aside a room for all the young people,” she jokes and Will’s eyes twist down to her mouth and then heavily back up again, a long breath escaping from his chest.

“You haven’t given me a tour, you know,” he tells her, a smile quirking around his features. “I gave you one of Pemberley; it seems only fair.”

If there was one thing Lizzie had never expected of Darcy, it was _mischief_. Her eyes glint in response.

“Well then, I suppose we should start with the basement,” she says, taking his hand and leading him towards the stairs. “I would have shown you before, Will, but I know your fear of spiders and cobwebs and thought it not much to your taste.” His hand tightens on hers, his pulse quickens, and Lizzie turns to catch the dread in his expression.

“You’re not…serious, are you?” he asks and the smirk breaks across her face. “Oh yes, I am,” she says. “But if you insist…”

His hand settles at her waist, holding her in place before she makes the descent.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says evenly. “Perhaps we could just take a walk? I believe your entire block is lit up with decorations.”

Lizzie smiles, hesitant but figures it’s not the worst idea the pair of them have ever had. 

“Lead the way, Mr. Darcy,” she tells him. They grab their coats at the entryway, Will slipping hers over her shoulders before they take to the streets. It’s California, but the desert is not far away and the temperature can drop painfully low this time of year. Lizzie blows on her fingers, rubbing them together until Will takes her hand in his. The click of her heels echoes loudly against the empty silence of the night, bright Christmas lights and plastic reindeer guiding the way.

“We used to do this,” she says quietly. “Lydia, Jane and me. We would sneak out after our parents had gone to bed and Jane and I would have to coax her back home in time for Santa.”

“Where were your parents?” he asks, and a year ago she would have heard judgment in his voice. Not now.

“Dad was always busy with his trains,” she says. “And my mother…she always seemed to have a cold when we wanted to go out.”

Story of her life, really.

Will’s hand tightens in hers, their footsteps creating a gentle swing between them, before he answers. “Gigi always wanted to go out for Christmas, but our father was always…very sad around that time of year.” It has suddenly become painful to speak, but Lizzie knows what he is referring to. Gigi’s birth, and other things, happened three days before Christmas. He looks down at her, solemn but peaceful, and Lizzie relaxes. “There are better things to celebrate this year anyway,” he says.

She pulls her hand out of his, but only to cup his face, to draw him close in a kiss that makes her stand on her toes and dizzies her. His lips are cold against hers, but the rest of him – the rest of him –

Lizzie drops down with a sharp gasp, glancing around to see if anyone is watching them – neighbors who couldn’t bear to be around the Bennets after that _scandalous_ event with their youngest daughter, did you hear? But Will doesn’t let her go far, cradles her head against his shoulder and circles her waist with his other.

“Do you know how very much I love you?” he asks, his voice soft against her ear. She can feel his heart through his chest, solid beats that make the rest of the world, the rest of the year, fall away.

“Very much,” she replies, but he shakes his head, so she looks up to meet his eyes. “Much more than that,” he says.

They leave the block unfinished.

_Finis_


End file.
